The Fresnel Effect
by Boom-Boom Jones
Summary: She's transient. He's not. But both have something in common that will catch up to them sooner than they realize. Romance/Drama/Angst AH
1. Chapter 1

-1-

She stacked a few cardboard boxes by the door. They contained the necessities she needed to start over again. She looked around, hands on hips, her cotton t-shirt clinging to her back from sweat, and surveyed the small space she'd called home for the past two years. She'd learned how to ski here, how to take inventory and work a register—which would only add to her resume that consisted of a little bit of everything—and how to roll a joint. She'd met people, but got close to none of them. The guy she'd spent a few nights with wasn't interested in a relationship anymore than she was, so it worked out perfectly. He'd scratched her itch and she'd scratched his.

She blew out a breath and thought, _Okay_.

Her body was sore from bending and lifting, dusting and scrubbing. She felt like she was sixty-eight instead of twenty-eight, but there was a spark of excitement that thrummed through her, trumping sleepy eyes and stiffened muscles, because today was the day Bella Swan reset time.

Leaving the two house keys atop a note that thanked the landlords, Bella closed the front door and said goodbye to her short life in Boulder, Colorado. She climbed into her Toyota, drove the twenty minutes to the convenience store that sold decent coffee and filled up her gas tank and thermos.

Within 2 days she crossed four states, had barely gotten out of a speeding ticket on I-70, slept in a less than spotless motel, and now sat in a small line of cars awaiting to board the ferry. She was tired and dirty, and her stomach heavy from fast food, but that spark was growing a bit brighter when all that was before her was the Atlantic Ocean and beyond that, Whimbrel Island.

Bella expected everyone she'd come in contact with in North Carolina to say y'all, to have sweet tea at the ready, but so far, that wasn't exactly the case. A large man with thick black hair waved his arm, ushering her to move her car forward. It was May 1, and she had her window rolled down the moment she passed the state line just waiting for that warm, salty air to wrap around her like a welcome, and it did about an hour ago, so when the man said, "Further…stop…right there," without a thick southern twang, Bella was a little relieved, thinking that maybe she really wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.

The sun was behind her, dipping down and cast an orange glow on Whimbrel. She leaned against the railing, her hands clasped around a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee and let her head fall back. Gulls circled and squawked above, dove into the ocean for their dinner. The ferry ride was supposed to take thirty minutes at best, but still, she didn't know the island, the hours kept by shops or stores and wanted to pick up a few things that weren't made mostly of grease.

A smattering of structures painted in white or steely gray and lush green pines so thick you almost couldn't see those structures grew bigger. Where water met land were rocks and sand and looking to the right, was the uppermost part of the lighthouse.

It stood on the farthest point of Whimbrel which, Bella had read about online, could only be accessed by 4-wheeler. It was the color of rusty blood with a black top and one of the few lighthouses still operated and cared for by a person. It was closed to the public, but Bella thought even though her Toyota was nowhere near capable enough to drive down to see it, she'd figure out a way.

She'd already secured a small house to rent from the aunt of a friend of the guy in Boulder. Mike had only said, "If I'm ever out that way…" and she'd said, "Yeah, sure," though both knew he'd never come to Whimbrel to see her. And that was fine by her; she didn't want him to, because once she'd left a town or a city, she'd left it and anyone's path she'd crossed for good.

Bella had a place to live for however long she would stay on the island, but she needed a job. The aunt of the friend of Mike in Boulder suggested she try the gift shop since summer and the tiny influx of tourists was right around the corner. To outsiders, aside from the festival in August, the island was a novelty, someplace to visit for a day but not exciting or entertaining enough to spend a week. If the gift shop didn't need help, Bella wasn't above doing whatever she had to. The finances she did have would last a couple weeks, longer if she was careful.

The ferry blew its horn and pulled into the dock. By now, the sky was purple and pink and Bella squeezed the steering wheel anxious to unpack. Driving through Missouri and Kansas, she'd romantically imagined herself up at sunrise walking along the beach. She would pick up rocks and wet her toes. She'd keep the windows of the still unseen house open all day and night, and at dawn when she'd left that motel she'd almost felt her skin tighten and sting from the sunburn she was bound to get.

Whimbrel was a bigger place than she thought. It'd taken forty-five minutes and a few wrong turns under darkened roads to find 7 Osprey Street. Her brakes squeaked, sounding louder than they really were, as she pulled to a stop on the grassy gravel driveway.

As promised, the key was under the mat and the electricity, water, and phone were turned on. So, the house didn't have a porch that overlooked the ocean and neither did the back. There was a slight musty smell and the kitchen cabinets were warped, but nothing Bella couldn't get used to. It's not as if she'd lived the past ten years of her life accustomed to wealth and everything that went along with it. The house just needed a little sprucing up, was all.

She climbed the stairs. Two bedrooms and a bathroom in between. She decided to take the room with what she'd hoped was a partial view of the ocean, something she'd find out come morning. Bella opened the window and although she couldn't see it, she heard, just barely, waves crashing. She pulled out the screen and leaned out as far as she could. There were a million stars and about once per minute, a white flash from the lighthouse.

* * *

Bella had never been able to sleep well that first night in a new place. The mattress was thin with springs poking her back in her apartment in Boston, and the sounds of New Orleans had kept her up all night until she'd acclimated herself to the music that had poured out of the bar down the block. It had been too quiet in Wyoming to do anything but think, and thoughts were sometimes louder than any New Orleans band could ever be.

But here, Bella hadn't slept well because it was nearly too comfortable, and that was something Bella did not want to happen.

The owner of the house, Sue, had bought Bella a basket of fruit, a half-gallon of milk, a tub of butter, frozen waffles, and a bottle of gourmet syrup. She'd put a few bottles of water in the refrigerator, too, since "island water is something that never tastes good to newcomers." Sue's note also read: _Welcome to the island. A few things for you to get started. Rent's due by the fifth of the month—we're very happy to have you_.

Sue had washed the sheets and a blanket, which were folded neatly on the bed. On top of the pile was a new pillow still in plastic. She had placed two fresh towels in the bathroom, but the best part was the coffee beans and grinder that sat by the pot on the kitchen counter.

_I'll stay for a couple months_, Bella thought. _Maybe more, maybe less._

While the coffee brewed, Bella made her bed. She stuck her head out the window one more time, and she was right. The scene was totally different than what she'd seen last night. Instead of black dotted by white, the sky was crystal blue. She could still hear the waves, but the trees blocked any possible view of the ocean. If Bella's house sat higher or if there happened to be a crow's nest, like some vacation homes had, it'd be perfect. As it was, she decidedly settled for the smell and sound.

Bella brushed her teeth and scooped her hair into a ponytail. She threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt then slid her feet into an old pair of flip-flops. After applying some sunscreen and pouring her coffee into a mug, she set out toward the beach. Later, she'd venture into town or wherever the gift shop and store were. Right now, she wanted to feel the sand beneath her feet.

There was a barely worn path off the road, and though Bella had no idea if it led directly to the beach, she took it anyway. Thorny brush scraped her calves and sharp rocks penetrated the soles of her flip-flops. Ten minutes in, she was already sweating and wondered why the hell didn't she bring a bottle of water. On its hottest day, she didn't remember Boulder ever being this humid. New Orleans, probably, but that was a long time ago.

The sounds of gulls and waves grew louder, and she knew it wouldn't be much farther. Her heartbeat quickened; she hadn't seen the ocean up close since she was a little girl.

Pines thinned out and the thorny brush had stopped where tall grass began. There were fewer rocks and more sand. Bella climbed the dune and finally, there it was. These waves were small, so unlike First Beach. Blue-black water capped by white and trails of froth ran up the sand only to chase the water back into the ocean. She made her way down the dune.

Bella walked to the edge of the water, immersing herself up to her knees. It was ice cold, but she didn't care. She could feel her feet being sucked further into the pebbled sand each time the water pulled back and adjusted then readjusted so as not to get stuck. She shielded her eyes with her hand—why she hadn't thought to wear sunglasses she didn't know. It's not like she was an amateur to the unfamiliar.

To the right, the island appeared straight, all short beach and sea grass and dunes. A few houses sat up on stilts and Bella wished she'd been able to rent one of those. But to the left it curved out toward the ocean. For miles it was, too, short beach and sea grass, but at the tip stood the lighthouse. It looked run down, not at all like others she'd seen online.

Maybe it was the rusty color, she didn't know.

She pulled herself out of the ocean and flopped down in the sand and lay on her back. Bella closed her eyes and just listened. She lay there for an hour or so, until her skin felt tight and hot.

And then she'd grown bored.

By the time Bella had made it back to the house, showered and found the gift shop, it was nearly noon. The owner, a tall slender woman, was probably in her late forties, early fifties. She had bright red, curly hair with strands of silver running through it.

"Name's Vicki," she said, and rounded the glass counter full of nautical tchotchkes to shake Bella's hand. "Sue said you'd be stopping by. Have you ever been convicted of anything? Ever done anything you should have been convicted of?"

"Ah, no," Bella said and smiled, unsure if Vicki was joking or not. She ran her hands down over her skirt.

"Swear?"

Bella marked an X over her chest. "Cross my heart."

Vicki shrugged. "I don't really need anyone now, but I will in the next couple of weeks. Maybe then? In the meantime, I'll give Carlisle a call. How do you do with blood?"

"Um…" _I don't._

"Squeamish? Yeah, me too. He's the island's doctor and I'm pretty certain he needs a new office assistant. Last one got married and moved down to Charleston. Anyway, occasionally someone will need some stitches or minor stuff, sunburn mostly." Vicki lifted an eyebrow, pointing to Bella's shoulder. "Nothing crazy happens around here, and if it did, they'd be taken to the mainland. I think the worst thing that _has_ happened since I've lived here was a broken arm…and that was me!" she said and laughed.

While Vicki made the call to Carlisle, Bella looked around the shop. There were wreaths of dried eucalyptus, wooden yard signs with the rusty lighthouse and a long-beaked bird on them that read _Whimbrel Island, est. before the Outer Banks_. There were pre-packaged chocolates and weathered-framed mirrors and newly painted buoys to make them look old. It was quaint and nothing at all like the things Bella would purchase if she'd had a home.

"He said to come by after three today, Bella," Vicki said, and then gave her directions.

"Thanks. If it doesn't work out, I'll see you by the end of the month?"

"Absolutely, but I'm sure it will. Carlisle's not the most organized of people. But come back in a couple weeks—believe it or not it can get busy on the weekends."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks again, Vicki."

Bella pushed through the door, out into the heat. She'd parked her car across the two-lane road in front of a mini-mart. The actual grocery store, she'd discovered, was a ferry ride away. _Tomorrow,_ she thought, _I'll get everything I need._

It felt good in here. The air conditioning was blasting and Bella's skin was covered by goosebumps. There were only two or three other people in the store and each of them eyed Bella like the stranger she was. She offered a small smile and continued down each aisle, tossing things into her basket.

Bella walked up to the register and unloaded a can of soup, peanut butter, Aloe, a six-pack of Coors Light and tampons onto the counter. She grabbed a few Snickers, putting them with everything else.

"You wouldn't happen to be Bella, would you?" the man asked, scanning each item. Her eyes shot up at him. "Well, are ya?" he said and laughed.

"Yes?" she said.

"Thought so. I'm Harry, Sue's husband. You're renting from us. Good to meet you face to face," he said.

"Oh!" she said. "Yeah, I am. It's a great house."

"We think so. Everything okay with it? I know Sue was planning on coming over later, make sure you got settled and all."

"Yep, everything seems to be fine. I was going to unpack today, and I'm meeting Carlisle about a job this afternoon...what time do you think she was going to come?" Bella asked, the bell jingled on the door behind her, but she didn't turn around. She couldn't believe Harry didn't flinch about her not having a job yet.

Harry placed her things in a bag then leaned against the counter. "Oh, I don't know. Give us a call later, whenever it's convenient, alright?" She nodded. "There are a couple of quirks I want to point out," he said, his eyes flicking behind her.

Someone cleared their throat, tapped their shoe then sighed, clearly annoyed. Bella glanced over her shoulder.

He held a gallon of water in each hand. His brows were knitted and he wore jeans and a holey shirt, both covered in grease spots. His hair was long, messy, darker than the ratty reddish beard on his face. His skin was tanned which made his green eyes seem brighter than what they probably were.

"Could you hurry up?" he snapped at Bella, then looked at Harry. "I have to get back." Bella just stared at him. "_What?_"

"Nothing. Sorry," she said, and he rolled his eyes. She paid Harry, told him she'd call after her interview. Bella picked up her bags and swung around.

The guy stood about a foot taller than she, didn't move when she almost ran into him. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, and slammed the water onto the counter.

"Asshole," Bella said under her breath, and walked out the door. But as she tossed her bags onto the passenger seat, she remembered she'd forgotten something. So, she sat in her car and waited until he came out.

He ran down the steps of the mini-mart and jumped into his truck, nearly hitting Bella's car when he backed out of his space. She wanted to yell at him, call him a dick and everything else she could think of, but since her landlord would probably have heard her, she decided to not say anything at all.

Harry smiled when she walked back in. "No need to be intimidated by him," he said.

"Oh, I wasn't," she said, and grabbed a loaf of bread.

"No? Edward usually scares the shit out of everyone. We all just leave him be."

"Is that his name?" she asked, and Harry nodded. "I'll be sure to do the same."

"Shouldn't be a problem. He usually doesn't come in very often anyway."

Bella paid Harry for a second time. "Come in from where?"

"The lighthouse. He lives out there."

* * *

Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

-2-

Bella knocked a few times, called out _hello_ through the screen door. She confirmed the address she'd written on her palm earlier and when no one answered after she tried to announce herself a second time, she let herself in.

She walked passed the degrees from Duke and Cornell, the shadowboxes of butterflies and photos of sailboats, and the poster of Jimi Hendrix that hung on the wood paneled walls until she reached the back door. The one with Dr. Cullen on the other side, lounging in a chaise in the tiny backyard, arms stretched back and dangling lazily over the top of the chair, completely naked.

Bella's eyes widened, the side of her mouth lifting in amusement, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She watched him purse his lips, move his head back and forth in easy rhythm to whatever music was beating out of his iPod, and laughed.

_Well, damn. _

She stood there for a full minute before realizing that if she stared a second longer it might be considered creepy – not as creepy as dead butterflies on display, but creepy nonetheless. So the doctor had a decent body for a guy his age of…forty-something?...and obviously didn't care who saw it if he left the front door open for anyone to come in, right? Still, Bella wasn't really into the whole voyeur thing, especially if the naked blond guy was going to be her boss.

She turned to the side and leaned up against the doorframe, averting her eyes. "Dr. Cullen?" she said loudly.

And then she wondered if he walked around sans clothing all the time, or if he was some kind of weirdo-slash-perv and that's the actual reason his former assistant was now his former assistant. It'd be nice if Vicki mentioned _something_, giving her a bit of warning so she could have been prepared, but then again maybe it wasn't common knowledge that Carlisle Cullen liked to sunbathe au naturale.

She peeked through the screen door. His music must have changed as he was now playing air-drums Phil Collins' style. She laughed again, shaking her head. Bella spotted a couple towels thrown on top of a clothes dryer in the laundry room in front of her and grabbed one before heading out to the yard.

Bella held the towel as a barrier between them, shaking it. "Dr. Cullen," she said.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit. Sorry!" he said, scrambling behind the towel. "Are you Bella? Dammit, I forgot you were coming by. Wait, you are Bella, aren't you? You're looking for a job?"

His blond-gray hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, giving his tanned skin a nice glisten. As hard as she tried to focus on his blue eyes, show some kind of professionalism, stay cool like it was no big deal that seconds before his flag was raised half-staff, her eyes quickly drifted down. She exhaled, smiling, relieved he slipped into a pair of shorts. "Yes, I'm Bella."

"Well, come on in," he said, devoid of any embarrassment, and led her back inside.

* * *

"So that," he said, waving his hand toward the backyard. "Yeah, I don't like tan lines. Anyway, you didn't run away screaming so I'm assuming you're still interested in working here."

Bella sat across from him in his office. He was now clothed and dry, smiling a little sheepishly. She still hadn't pegged him to anything specific, though, like she'd done automatically and instantly with everyone else she'd met before.

Harry and Sue? Parental. Boulder Mike? Party. Joe, the guy in Wyoming who'd fixed the leak in her kitchen and had taught her how to change the oil in her car, was consistent. Bella's sister, Rosalie, simply put, was a pain in the ass.

But Carlisle wasn't so black and white. He was at least forty-five, maybe fifty, stunning, had an apparent fondness of all things chill. Judging by his weathered Billabong t-shirt and bare feet propped up on his desk, the photo of him and Robert Plant backstage somewhere on the wall behind him, the absence of a white coat and antiseptic odor. Then, the Long Island iced teas he had made for them, hers now warming in her hands, would have branded him Bohemian, nothing more nothing less, which would have been totally fine by Bella, but there was something about him. Carlisle emanated an air of humble confidence that came out in his voice, his posture, and she was curious.

"I am," she said.

"Good, because I need the help." He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Experience…go."

Bella sipped her drink and shifted in her seat. "The basics," she said. "Phones, filing, Word, Excel…what are you looking for?"

"That and personality. It's not a tough job – workload wise – but you'll encounter all types of people. The locals are cool. The tourists…they can be an interesting bunch. Can you smile even though there might be an occasion you'd feel the need to slap someone? Yeah? Right on. How about flexibility?" he asked, sitting back, rocking his leather chair and continued to spin his pen.

She set her glass on a coaster on his desk and shrugged. "Sure, yeah. Early mornings, weekends kind of thing?"

"Sometimes late night, too." Carlisle reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a cell phone and slid it across the desk. "If there's an emergency, say some idiot decides alcohol poisoning might be the way to go, I'd need assistance. Up for that?"

"Dr. Cullen, I don't have any formal medical training," Bella said. "I mean, I can rip open a Band-Aid in about two seconds, but that's about it." Her half-lie spilled out easily and sounded convincing in her ears.

Technically, she hadn't had _formal_ education. She hadn't earned a degree or a certificate, the only knowledge she had taught to her by her dad's hospice nurse. What was more, she doubted anyone would need that type of care out here, so the guilt of not being entirely forthcoming with Carlisle stirred only a little.

Lying, making people believe she was just a girl with no story, no history, was always easier than exposing skeletons.

Carlisle gulped down the last of his iced tea. "No, no, that's not what I mean. What I'd need would be for you to make calls to the hospital on the mainland, arrange transportation, that sort of thing. Free me up from that so I could pump the dumbass's stomach. Besides, if you fucked up doing anything more than applying a Band-Aid I'd get sued," he said and winked. Bella pressed her lips together. "Sorry, does my language offend you?"

"No," she said and laughed.

"Excellent. I cuss like a motherfucker all the damn time and for some reason, there's always someone who finds it off-putting."

"Well, not me," she assured. "I'm not easily put off."

"Hence my no tan line thing."

"Hence your no tan line thing," she repeated.

He nodded, satisfied, swirling the ice in his glass. "Anyway, the cell is so I can call you if I need you during off hours. You'd work eight-to-eleven, break for lunch – which is usually when I'm in the backyard," he said, pausing.

"Gotcha. So, I'll have lunch…not here," she said and he laughed. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then thought better of it.

"What?" he said. Carlisle smiled, lifting his eyebrows. "Spit it out."

"It's just…you know, you're a doctor, lying out when the sun is strong…skin cancer and…stuff," she said.

He smiled and held up his empty glass. "Everything in moderation, Bella, though I respect your concern. We only have one life, right? Might as well enjoy a little bit of everything."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I totally agree," she said.

"Alright, so, you'd come back from lunch at two and finish at six, Monday through Friday. It's mostly walk-ins so bring a book or five. The pay won't make you a millionaire, but you won't starve. Oh, after Memorial Day it picks up, so our lunch breaks will be shorter. Want to give it a shot?"

"I do, but…I don't know exactly how long I plan to stay on Whimbrel," she said. She could give him that much.

Carlisle shrugged it off. "Even a month would put me in a better position than I am now with no one."

They talked more about the job. He showed her around: the examination room, the kitchen, the other part of the house where he lived, but not upstairs. Bella wondered if he was married or divorced, not that she was interested. Carlisle wasn't her type, anyway, and he was now officially her boss which was something, rather someone Bella never screwed around with. Bella wouldn't pry into his personal life, having decided a while ago that if you don't want anyone to ask questions about you, you don't ask questions about them.

"So that's that," he said. "Tomorrow you can fill out the paperwork so the government can get paid as well."

Carlisle stepped onto the porch and held the door for Bella. "Okay," she said. "See you at eight."

* * *

Bella had exactly forty-five minutes to get everything she needed from the grocery store to last her for more than a week in order to make the last ferry of the night back to Whimbrel, thanks to Edward, the possibly insane but definitely an asshole lighthouse keeper.

The line for the ferry consisted of two lanes. It wasn't hard for everyone else in the line, which was shockingly long for a Tuesday night, Bella thought, to be polite. Follow the rules clearly posted on a white wooden sign that was not hard to see. Car on the left boards, then car on the right, repeat. Easy.

But, of course, Bella had been side by side with Edward the entire time, neither acknowledging the other, though Bella had glanced at him every so often. She'd looked over, jaw dropped, when he'd rev his big stupid truck, just waiting to gun it forward six feet. When it was her turn, because she was on the left and it was obvious to her and everyone else that _it was her turn_, Edward had piggybacked the driver in front of him, taking the last spot on the ferry. She swore she saw a smug grin underneath his nasty beard, too.

Even now, her cheeks still flamed. Bella's jaw was sore, clenching it so much. She went up and down the aisles, throwing things into her cart, paying little attention to what she was grabbing because there he was, every time. Produce section, cereal aisle, frozen foods, _Edward_.

Finally, though, peace. As Bella scanned the selection of shampoos and conditioners there was no Edward in sight. She found the brand she'd used for the past couple years, and absently dropped them into her cart. She glanced at her watch: thirty minutes to pay and drive back to the dock. Bella blindly moved forward, just looking at things, making her way toward the front of the store until she knocked her cart into someone else's.

Under the fluorescents, his hair looked particularly dirty, but that's not what made Bella gape at him. It was how Edward's nostrils flared, how his jaw tensed, and how he shoved his cart into hers, attempting to push it out of his way.

"What the hell is you problem?" she said, practically shouting as she braced the handle, blocking the aisle. He banged into hers again, and Bella shoved right back. "Seriously, dude, I can go all day."

"Move," he said.

_Bang_.

"No."

_Bang_.

He leaned toward her, over the handle, and lowered his voice. "_Move._"

Bella leaned over hers. _"No."_

"_Get. The hell. Out of my way."_

"_Go. To. Hell."_ She looked down at her watch: twenty-four minutes. Bella spun her cart around, flipped Edward off, and nearly ran toward an open register. She was unreasonably disappointed that she couldn't continue her standoff with Edward.

The woman was taking way too long swiping Bella's things over the scanner. "You know what, I'm sorry. I have to catch the ferry," Bella said, grimacing. "Can I just pay for what you've already put through? Please?"

She huffed in annoyance. "So, I'm going to have to put all these things back, then." Bella smiled as apologetically as she was able, even though the stench of Edward and sound of him snickering floated over from the next register in the most grating way. Bella shot him a look, but he was already heading out the door. "Fine," she said. "Fine. Forty-two, eighty-three."

Bella flew down Ocean Road toward the landing. She turned onto the street that led to the dock, then screeched to a stop at the closed gate.

The ferry was pulling away. On it, amid four or five other cars was Edward's big stupid truck, and next to it stood Edward, staring right at her. Bella stepped out of her car, and then Edward got into his.


	3. Chapter 3

-3-

Every day, Edward Masen woke up an hour before sunrise. He exchanged his boxers for a pair of swimming trunks and headed down the rock-strewn beach to the water.

Like a machine, Edward followed a routine: swim straight out to where the water went almost smooth, then back. He'd run down the curve of the beach until his lungs and thighs burned and then he'd push harder on the return. He'd throw himself into any repairs of the lighthouse and the four-room cottage that came along with it.

All that work needing to be done took up the space of his mind. When the roof of the cottage was patched, the salt had been scrubbed from the storm panes, the lens was clean and the clockwork mechanisms moved and rotated like they were supposed to, he'd find something else to occupy his head. He'd build something only to tear it down then build something else. He'd paint the house then paint it again. He was pretty good with his hands, after all.

Edward's grandfather had died a couple years prior, leaving the cottage and surrounding land to Edward, something that had been in his family for decades. The inheritance included the lighthouse by way of an agreement with the Coast Guard. Initially Edward thought he'd sell it, the land and cottage, but he changed his mind. There was nothing left for him in the city – he and Jess had broken up, his business… well, yeah. There was no business any longer. He hadn't spoken to his parents in years. So instead of seeing his name in the paper every week for god only knew how many more times, he'd disappear to this place that he'd visited during summers as a boy.

Nevertheless, it'd taken him a little while to figure out that his self-imposed imprisonment was better served if he didn't have so much time to think about being the failure that he was.

In the first few days of his arrival, Sue Clearwater, like some kind of lone welcoming committee, had brought banana muffins in a basket to him. _Muffins. In a basket._ He'd looked down at them, then back at Sue with a quirked eyebrow and his mouth in a hard line. Her eyes had gone a little wide and she'd stammered, shoving the basket toward him with a weak "Welcome to Whimbrel." None of the residents had known him as a boy.

He'd muttered a thanks – which, let's face it, was _something_ - then slammed the door. It'd been at that point he'd wondered when, exactly, he'd become such a bastard. Edward had never claimed to be _nice_, but he'd not always been this way, either.

So Edward Masen accepted the locals' opinion of him that he was, in fact, an asshole. Being an asshole meant that people would leave him alone, as was his intent all along, and it'd all worked out perfectly. Harmonious, even. Until she showed up.

He hadn't recognized her at first, what with seeing only the back of her. Even when she'd turned around it hadn't sparked, but then she'd opened her mouth. _"Nothing. Sorry."_ And all those years of high school torture had hit him like a wrecking ball.

Then, there she was again in line for the ferry. Granted, it was a small island and the odds of running into her if he had to leave his house were fairly high, but come on. Twice in as many days? Right then Edward had been sure karma wasn't quite finished with him. He'd flipped off karma. Literally. Shoved his middle finger up toward the roof of truck as he jolted it forward. Held it there for about a minute and then smirked, cutting her off in line.

He'd slammed his shopping cart into hers, he couldn't help it. Nothing wrong with getting a little frustration out. But she hadn't moved. God damn she was a pain in the ass. Always had been. She hadn't even recognized him which had pissed him off more so what else could he do but hit her cart again. Then she'd had the nerve to spin around like she had, leave with her finger high in the air. Had left him in the aisle without a second glance. Bella hadn't changed a bit, and Edward decided, about five seconds later, that it was best she had no idea who he was – she'd probably want to sit on the beach and reminisce and shit.

Back in high school he was steel-toed boots and T-shirts while she was lip gloss and convertibles. Polar opposites, with him taking the minimal classes to graduate and working construction the rest of the time while she'd been in every club, president of this or that, and because it was just the way things worked, Homecoming Queen.

After being on the island for as long as he had, Edward had every intention of living out his life there. It was the one thing that remained constant, uninterrupted. He could count on the tide rolling in and out, the sun rising and setting, the salt in the air, and at night the flash of the light every sixty seconds. They were the only things he relied on, and from there he'd fallen into his routine.

Just as the sun was coming up, already promising the day would be scorching, Edward finished up his run and headed into his house. In his bedroom, he wiped the sweat off his face and chest with a towel then tossed it onto the floor next to a pile of dirty clothes. He walked back out into the galley of a kitchen, still breathing heavily and pulled open the refrigerator door then grabbed the gallon of water.

He downed a quarter of it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, droplets of water caught in his beard, then drank some more. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank, the tendons in his forearms pressing against his tanned skin as he held up the plastic jug, every muscle tight, burning from exertion.

Edward cracked a few eggs in a hot pan and dropped two pieces of bread into his toaster. He'd left his door open, letting in the air and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. There was something about the ocean that flooded his veins with admiration. Nothing manmade, especially by him, would ever compare.

Hours passed as he mended the fence at the edge of his property. A spring storm had blown through, flattening an entire section. He could've just let it be, but it was the part that held the No Trespassing sign.

He hammered new planks into the sandy dirt and tethered them together with wire, sweat dripping down his back.

Edward hadn't once thought about Bella being stranded on the mainland overnight. Well, maybe once or twice, laughing to himself. It would do the princess good, he thought, then he finally wondered why the hell she was here anyway.

Overhead, a few clouds veiled the sun, providing a brief albeit welcomed reprieve from its rays. Now and then a warm breeze blew up from the water, bending and swaying the beach grass. It was quiet save for Edward's hammering, and then it wasn't.

Tires crunched over rock feet away: Harry's truck. Edward glanced around the fencing he'd just secured and watched the pick-up bounce toward him, no, speed toward him.

Edward straightened from his crouch, rubber mallet dangling from his hand and eyed the cab. If Harry was behind the wheel he wouldn't dare barrel down that narrow road, only an idiot would do something so…idiotic. There was a glare on the windshield and it wasn't until the driver slammed on the brakes no more than a foot from the new fencing that he saw who the idiot was.

"Ah, fuck." He threw his mallet to the side and turned around, hands loosely on his hips, as she jumped out of the cab.

"Hey!" Bella yelled, stomping over to him. She jabbed her finger into his shoulder blade. "Hey, jerk face! You owe me two-hundred and twenty-five dollars!"

He spun back around. "_What_? The hell I do!"

Bella thrust a piece of paper toward him. "I said…and I'll say it slower so you can understand. You owe me two-hundred and twenty-five dollars. A hundred for the hotel room I had to rent last night because I missed the last ferry and another fifty for me missing work this morning." She enunciated every syllable, she really did.

Unbelievable.

"Not my problem you chose to stay in a hotel last night. Maybe you need to plan your time a little better." Edward went back to the fence. "And that only adds up to one-fifty, genius." He picked up his mallet.

"Seventy-five's for my trouble," she clarified. She followed him, planting her feet between him and the fence.

He barked out a laugh. "You're serious."

"Damn right, I'm serious." She held the hotel receipt in front of his face. "This is your fault."

Edward shook his head. He took the receipt from her feeble grip, crumpled it up then bounced it off the top of her head. "Don't think so."

Bella huffed out a disbelieving laugh. Her cheeks were flushed and her forehead glistened. She crossed her arms over her chest, pursed her lips, and stood as tall as her five-foot-four frame allowed. Another breeze kicked up, swirling her dark hair around her face. Bella would've looked almost pretty in that moment if she hadn't been so damn irritating.

The side of Edward's mouth lifted as he mirrored her stance. He watched Bella's eyes slide down him, probably disgusted by his tattered jeans and ripped tee, considering she undoubtedly had never done a lick of manual labor in her life.

"I'm not leaving until you pay me," she said, meeting his stare.

"Bet you've said that more than once."

Bella clucked her tongue then smiled. She walked over to the low pile of two-by-fours and plopped down on them, arms still crossed. She stretched out her feet and put one bird-like ankle over the other.

"You're gonna hold my wood hostage," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Nice double entendre."

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart."

"Don't call me sweetheart."

He tilted his head toward the pile. "Get off my wood."

Bella drew her eyebrows together. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" What was he doing? He ran his hand down over his face, pulled at his beard. "You know what?" he said, then let the silence hang there for a minute. "Fine. Two-twenty-five? Fine." Edward walked toward the path to his cottage and mumbled, "Whatever to get rid of your ass."

"Where are you going?"

"Stay there!" he said over his shoulder.

Nearly thirty minutes later Edward returned, cash in hand. Seemed Bella hadn't moved an inch. He still couldn't believe she didn't recognize him.

Edward handed her the money.

"Keep your fortune hidden under your mattress, do you?" she said, pocketing it. She didn't even bother to count it.

A sarcastic reply sat on the tip of his tongue, but all he said was, "I really hope I don't see you around again."

For a second, he thought she might cry, but her wounded expression vanished as quickly as it came.

"Likewise," she said.

* * *

The sun dipped down over the west side of the island. It was low tide and the water ebbed from the rocky shore as if it was kissing it good night. Edward stepped out of the shower, and tried as he might, he couldn't get Bella out of his head. He foolishly hoped that maybe he could wash her away with the day's dirt.

Not so much.

That scene from over a decade ago replayed in his mind as he threw on fresh clothes. He hadn't thought about it in years, hadn't thought about _her_ in years.

Edward climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the light, all 198 steps. There was honestly no need to check on it – it was automated and had been since the 1950s. Still, he checked.

Out on the catwalk, wind whipped at him. He leaned back against the wall, staring out at the ocean. When he was young his grandfather had brought him up here and spilled secrets about mermaids and sea monsters. Edward's grandfather had said the light was both a guide and a guardian. Even then it'd sounded corny, but Edward soaked it up.

Edward wasn't a naïve little boy anymore.

Descending the steps, he resolved that his routine would have to change if he wanted to ensure he not run into Bella again. To do this he'd have to figure out where and when she worked, so he could get to the mainland in peace, when he needed. Short trips to necessary places on the island included, like Dr. Cullen's to pick up his prescription next week.

When Edward neared his house, he noticed a figure sitting on his doorstep. _Seriously_.

"What's it going to take to get rid of you?" he said. His entire body hot with anger.

Bella rose from the step, her hand extended. "Here," she said, handing him an envelope. "I changed my mind. I don't want your money. I was just angry. So…here."

It wasn't completely dark yet – she could easily make her way back up the path.

Edward brushed past her. "Go home, Bella," he said and stormed inside the house, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

thanks for reading :)


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you, _hugely_, Capricorn75, JadaPattinson, and OhWell for reccing this fic on twitter.

* * *

-4-

Bella's fist hovered. He said her name. She didn't like that somehow he knew her name.

She rapped her knuckles against the white door. The entire house was white except for the roof, which was pebble gray. It was tiny, too. Bella didn't drive Harry's truck past the fence, too nervous the Neanderthal might throw a fit, so she walked down the tire-worn path. In the distance, it looked more like a service building than a home. Up close though, the potential for it being charming was there, if only just a little.

Edward didn't answer. She knocked again.

It'd taken her a couple hours to cool off – Bella white-knuckled the steering wheel the whole way back to Harry's, unable to understand what she'd done to Edward that made him hate her so much.

He was _mean_, and for no reason at all. But Bella had a level head; whatever Edward's problem was it was his and Bella was not going to allow him to get under her skin. She'd be the bigger person, return the money, call a truce.

Seemed Edward had a knack for making things difficult.

There was no mat on the doorstep, otherwise she'd slide the envelope underneath, and it was too windy to lay it there. Because Bella refused to prolong this any more than necessary she had no other choice but to knock,. She thought about testing the doorknob to see if it was unlocked, but for all she knew Edward would have her arrested for breaking and entering.

She switched hands, the knuckles on her right stinging, and finally, a few minutes later he swung the door open.

Bella stumbled back a step before regaining her footing. He was so menacing standing there, tilted forward with his eyes narrowed. Edward blocked any view to the inside of his home, light peeking through what little space he wasn't concealing.

She straightened her spine. "Here. Like I said, I don't want it. Also, it's a little unnerving you know my name when I haven't told you. I'm not saying you…" She paused. "Never mind." Her shoulders dropped and she turned on her heel, shaking her head.

Edward had closed his eyes, pressed his lips together. He stopped listening the moment she mentioned him knowing her name. He didn't care what she had to say, so why bother.

"It's a small island. People talk," he called to her back. Bella kept walking.

* * *

Bella handed the keys back to Harry. It was already dark, like a moonless midnight dark. The switch from day to night here was abrupt, Bella found, giving no time to settle in or take one last breath of blue before it turned to black.

She just wanted to go home before yet another incident occurred, like getting lost on the still unfamiliar streets then misguidedly driving around until she finally happened upon Osprey. Her head was still foggy so the possibility was very, very possible.

Standing at his perch behind the cash register inside the mini-mart, Harry tilted his head. "Didn't go so well I take it."

Bella had only given Harry a brief synopsis of her encounter with Edward. Said something along the lines of a misunderstanding. That was the first. The second time she asked to borrow his truck she claimed it would be the last because she needed to rectify the situation.

He'd made this face, a combination of skepticism and humor, though more on the humor side - Bella didn't think it was very funny.

"No, but I don't know why I'm surprised. You had said he hardly comes in anyway?"

Harry laughed. "Doubtful you'd run into him often, Bella, but when you do go the other way." He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Ignore him."

"Maybe you should get some kind of sign made up for the tourists." She smiled. "Warn them about the hairy guy at the lighthouse – Whimbrel's urban legend."

"Aw, come on now. He's not that bad."

Bella sighed. "Well, I wouldn't know. Thanks again, Harry."

"'Night, Bella."

Once home, she took a bath. Her skin tight as she'd imagined it would be when she had first arrived, but her complexion didn't easily allow for brown. Bella had to go through phases: pink to pinker to red and then finally a semblance of tan, ephemeral as it was.

She padded down the steps, sliding her hand along the wooden banister. The few other dwellings on her street were empty for now - vacation rentals - and Bella wondered if they'd at all become occupied by revolving strangers. She hoped they would because it was way too quiet.

Adrenaline had always coursed through her when she moved to a new place. Usually, the feeling of excitement had lasted for days, but this time around it'd lasted a few hours, and Bella was tired.

With every new city came a period of introduction. Getting to know the feel, setting the expectations. And normally the whole process was fun. But this time? She wanted to leave, come back next week then try again. Stupid Edward had done that to her. Bella chastised herself for giving him the slightest impression that she thought he might've actually asked about her.

Flat on her back, Bella lay in the middle of the living room floor. Hands folded over her stomach, knees raised, she stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Sometimes along with the excitement of being new came a sense of loneliness.

It was around ten when Bella called her sister. Rose answered on the third ring.

"Hey," Bella said.

"Hey, yourself." Bella could hear the smile in Rose's voice. "How's the island?"

"It's nice. Slow, you know? Gorgeous. What're you up to?"

"Just working. Hanging out. Are you coming home after this?"

"Nope."

Rose sighed. "I miss you."

"I miss you too, but I wish you wouldn't ask every time we talk."

"It's been ten years," Rose said.

Nothing like jumping right into it, Bella thought.

"And next year it'll be eleven and then twelve and so on." She paused. "Visit me. Remember how much fun we had in New Orleans?"

"I have a job, Bella."

"That's what vacation time is for. The beach is nice - you'd like it. Stay with me for a few days. You should see the tan I'm sporting already."

"You're such a liar."

Bella lifted her arm and examined it. "I know, but I have a the makings of a healthy glow."

Rose cleared her throat. "Mom misses you."

"That's nice."

"Bella."

"Rose."

"Don't be a brat."

"How's Emmett?" Bella deflected.

"Still going strong. After four months of dating I think I'm going to need a vag transplant."

"Ew."

"He's relentless."

"Come out here."

"Come home."

Bella sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Their push and pull always came down to her sister ruining every conversation by bringing up their mother. "You know I can't. I don't understand why you think it's so important that I make up with Mom. I'm not as forgiving as you, and honestly, I don't understand that either. Mom took off, and then Daddy got sick. She left you and me to take care of him – I was fifteen, you were sixteen, Rose. Remember? She came back _after_ he died. What the fuck is that? I'm not going to live in a place where I'm both pitied and frowned at. I don't see how you stand it.

"And besides, I was there a couple years ago."

"Yeah, for like two days," Rose said. "You need to let it go."

"It's not that easy," Bella replied. " I don't want to talk to Mom. And no matter how much time has passed people will always know me as the girl with the father who had cancer. That she had _so_ much potential but then she burned down a house and then her father died."

"Oh, please, Bella. It's not always about you. The fire wasn't even your fault, but obviously you need to be reminded, like, all the time. And, you know what else? He was my dad, too."

Bella rose from the floor, tucked her free hand under the arm of which she held the phone tightly to her ear. She began to pace. Of course it wasn't all about her, but her sister didn't understand. She never had.

Bella's father had always told her she was his favorite. Bella wasn't naïve to think he hadn't said the same thing to Rose. In fact, they both knew it. They'd laughed and teased each other incessantly, but not once had they ever called him out.

Whether the fire had been her fault or not wasn't the point. The house was this dilapidated thing that sat way outside the town limits, unoccupied for years. People she'd gone to school with partied there, including Rose. Bella'd gone a few times, but she hadn't been a big drinker like some. She was busy with school, her dad. Wanted him to be proud.

Bella had been alone when the fire started – it was an accident as determined by the FFD. She'd been charged with trespassing and negligence, but since she was a minor and considering her father was a former cop the charges were lessened and she'd been sentenced to community service. The worst thing was that she'd disappointed the man she idolized.

"I know, I know. That's not what I meant – sorry. It's just I don't want to keep reliving the past."

They were quiet for a while until Rose, thankfully, changed the subject. Emmett this and Emmett that, Rose's voice sharp only minutes before was now moony, maybe over the top dreamy. She let her sister go on and on about their dates as she detailed _everything_. Length and girth, most definitely included. Bella called Rose a whore to which Rose called Bella a prude.

This was the Rose she missed.

After fits of giggles Bella noticed it was nearly midnight and said she needed to hang up now if she was going to be to work on time.

* * *

Edward was seventeen, a senior in high school with nothing ahead of him but an impossible plan to build things. Figments of wood and nails, plaster and sheetrock tangible as shadows. He never thought about going to college despite the encouragement he'd received from his mom. Just wasn't his thing, no matter they were broke.

All he'd ever wanted to do was work with his hands. He'd see an empty space and envision a three-story Victorian, turrets and all. Or a single-level where his personal details would be crafted into the moulding.

When he'd found that abandoned house out off Smith Road, he'd only been fourteen. He'd ridden his bike to get away from his parents: fighting again. Stupid stuff, really, but he hadn't wanted to listen to it.

Edward had pedaled hard down residential streets, cut through yards until the yards thinned out and turned into fields of weeds and rocks. He'd pushed through the woods, the soft ground sucking at his tires. By the time Edward had reached Smith Road his sneakers and socks were caked with mud and his hair plastered to his forehead and the back of his neck.

It'd been October, or September – the exact month was sketchy – and the sky was this deep gray. It hadn't been that cold, but it looked it. Like if you'd glanced out your window you would've known you were going to need a coat.

Edward had gotten off his bike, deciding to walk the road before he turned around. He'd usually need to spend a couple hours away from home to let things settle between his parents. So, he'd walked along Smith for a little while until he spotted what would become something pretty special.

Over the next few years, Edward had drawn up blueprints in a black and white composition notebook, which turned into a stack of notebooks. Page after page of ideas then modifications. He'd hidden the notebooks in plastic bags in a small second floor bedroom but really it was exposed wires and water damaged walls.

Holes were everywhere and the place had assuredly been a habitat to raccoons or even rats. Edward saw past all that though, being the dreamer he was. He was well aware that others from school hung out here, but they did so around the perimeter. Too afraid if they spent too much time inside it might collapse.

He'd find empty beer cans and cigarette butts on Sunday mornings then sweep them into a pile in the back of the house. Sometimes the pile would be gone – he never knew who cleaned it up. Just as he never knew who found his notebooks.

For months someone had sporadically left notes in the margins: make this window bigger; put the fireplace on the east side, not the west; this is nice. Sometimes he'd explain why their suggestion would be impractical, countering it with an alternative. Sometimes he wouldn't.

Edward knew the ghost was a girl from the swirly handwriting alone. He thought about staking out the place, but then what? What if she was _not_ what he'd imagined? He left it alone.

A Tuesday night in April of his senior year, Edward went out to his house. Usually, he'd drive then park at the end of Smith Road, but this night he'd walked the three miles. He'd gotten into a nasty argument with his dad about what, he couldn't remember.

An empty promise of rain hung high in the clouds, as it had for weeks now. You couldn't jump high enough in your dreams to reach them.

Edward had an idea, one that complemented hers of an open staircase. He strode quicker the closer he came, but it wasn't until he'd gotten around the corner, past the thicket that he saw a blaze of orange through broken windows.

Bella Swan was there too. She was sitting on the hood of her car, chin in hands, watching his house burn and not doing a fucking thing about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**-5-**

"So, yeah. It's a clusterfuck," Carlisle said. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. "Sorry."

"Um."

"Right? My organizational skills have often rendered people dumbfounded. You should run away now." He laughed and sat on the edge of Bella's desk. She stared at the monitor. "Actually, don't run away. Forget I said anything."

Bella glanced up at him, amused. "I wasn't planning to, but how'd you let your files get this way?" she asked, not quite certain the files truly were as bad as Carlisle made them out to be.

"We don't mesh," Carlisle said, gesturing between him and the computer. "Once upon a time I had a great system: pen and paper; phone in scripts. You know, _easy_, right? My last assistant thought she'd bring me into the twenty-first century and started transferring my hard files onto this thing. Set up a billing system. The whole nine yards. Brilliant in theory though disastrous in reality.

"Before she quit to get married she tried to show me what to do, but… Alas. " He leaned forward, smiling, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners. "Please don't ever leave me."

Bella laughed and waved him away. "Go. I have work to do."

"Right on," Carlisle said as he winked, then hoisted himself off the desk.

About ninety minutes later, Carlisle popped back in with a glass of lemonade. "Just lemons," he said and handed it to Bella. "And sugar, some water." He shrugged; she thanked him. "I save the good stuff for the afternoon."

"You do, huh?"

"Sometimes."

Bella took a sip, lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "Wow. This is really good." He nodded in a way that told her he was well aware that his lemonade was, indeed, delicious. "There's more than just lemons, sugar, and water in this."

"Secret recipe." He dragged a chair from the opposite side of the room to the front of her desk then sat. Carlisle leaned back, swirled the ice in his glass and rested his bare foot on his knee. Did he ever wear shoes? "How's it going?" he asked as he looked toward the neatly alphabetized stacks of manila folders covering her desk.

"Slowly. Just trying to figure out this software."

"Kinda threw you deep in a pit, didn't I?"

"No. It's not that bad," she said, hoping she wasn't making it worse.

"Well, that's good." Carlisle sat there moments longer while the two regarded each other, though Carlisle more comfortably than Bella.

He smiled, drank his lemonade, drew things in the condensation on the glass and held it up to the sunlight that streamed through the open door. Bella on the other hand, wavered between getting on with her attempt to figure out the system and acknowledging her boss who, thankfully, was now listening to his iPod with his eyes closed and head tilted back. Well. Problem solved then.

Never mind he was still physically there, the awkwardness lessened now that his attention wasn't on her.

Clicking tabs, comparing information that was in… _Cope, Shelly_'s medical chart to where and how it was listed in the computer, Bella wondered how Carlisle managed to make any sort of living considering the slow pace of his practice - he didn't have anything on his calendar until the day after tomorrow.

Carlisle stayed rooted across from Bella for the next hour, neither saying much more to each other aside from questions and answers about the meanings of some abbreviations.

"It's going to take me forever to understand all this lingo," she warned and peeked over at Carlisle. Her only experience had been with her dad's illness, but that was altogether different from jellyfish stings and arthritis.

"That's totally all right, Miss Swan. I will teach you everything you need to know." He checked his watch. "Oh, hey, lunch time."

Bella closed a file. "Already? Okay, um, I guess I'll head out."

"What? Why? Let me take you out to eat," he said, extending his elbow. "Are you hungry? I'm dying for a burger."

She rounded her desk. "A burger sounds perfect, actually. So no tanning today?"

"Nope," he said and wiggled his elbow. She placed her hand there and shook her head. "I am nothing if not a gentleman." He side-eyed her with a mischievous grin.

"And a charmer," Bella replied.

"So I've been told."

"Carlisle?"

He pushed the screen door open. "Yes?"

"Shoes?"

He convinced her to ride bikes the two miles to the restaurant. As nice as it was to pedal along the quiet streets of the island, the sun warming her back, Bella had a hard time enjoying their little jaunt, Carlisle happily providing the island's history completely oblivious to Bella's unease.

Around each bend she agonized they'd run into Edward. Bella's imagination got the better of her, and she pictured him driving up behind, his demon eyes on fire, his foot pressing down hard on the accelerator, clipping the back wheel of her bike. She'd go flying into the brush alongside the road and he'd cackle like a crazy person as he sped off.

Maybe that was extreme. He'd probably just come real close then throw her one of his malicious glares. He'd probably add a smart-ass comment too.

Still, she didn't want to deal with him.

Harry had said to ignore Edward.

Sure. No problem.

Carlisle led Bella to a booth to the right of the bar. The restaurant was quaint but dim. Quiet save for the clinking of forks against plates from the few patrons. The walls were dark as were the floors and bar, antique lanterns hung from the ceiling emitting yellow light. The only real color were the faded red booths. It reminded her of a place in her hometown where men dressed in flannel hunched at the bar there and a cloud of smoke lingered at the ceiling. Where her dad would sit at his usual spot at the corner surrounded by those in flannel and a glass of Olympic Ale in his hand.

Bella slid into the seat, the backs of her thighs causing friction against the vinyl. Carlisle pulled menus from their holder at the end of the table, passing one to Bella.

She looked around, swallowing down old memories.

"Something wrong?" Carlisle asked, running his hand through his wavy hair.

Bella flicked her eyes to Carlisle. "What? No, no." She put on her best smile then focused on the menu. "The burgers are good here?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything is."

A waitress approached their table.

"Carlisle," she said, then turned to Bella with a grin. "And company."

Bella said hello and Carlisle's mouth shot up at the corners. He subtly looked the waitress up and down. She was in her thirties and confidently gorgeous. Long legs, sun-kissed brown hair tucked behind her ear, and curves – the woman owned her curves.

"Bella, this is Esme. Esme, Bella," he said. "Bella took Rebecca's place."

Esme made a face. "Yikes. Good luck, Bella. You're gonna need it."

"Hey now," Carlisle chided, his smile full on now.

"It's true. He's a mess," she teased.

Bella laughed and Carlisle continued to gaze adoringly at Esme.

Esme took their orders then Carlisle watched her walk away until she disappeared into the back. He cleared his throat and chuckled, turning his attention to Bella.

"I know. I'm a fool in love with that woman," he said.

Bella grinned and unrolled her utensils from the napkin. "Have you two been together long?"

Carlisle shook his head. "We're not and it's a goddamn tragedy," he said. His expression softened. "I'd make her so happy, but she's not interested in a relationship. One day."

Bella wondered why. Carlisle was handsome—scratch that. Carlisle was _very_ good looking. Sexy. He was smart and funny, and a doctor. She imagined single women lining up at his door to date him. Hell, if he wasn't her boss...

If he wasn't her boss it wouldn't matter, because Carlisle was sweet and caring and like Esme, though certainly for different reasons, Bella was not interested in a relationship either. To Bella it was obvious that Carlisle was the type who went all in.

"What about you?" he asked Bella. Esme delivered two glasses of water and she and Carlisle exchanged this look, one so private that Bella averted her eyes. "Ever been stupid in love?"

She glanced up, Esme gone. "Oh, no," she lied, shaking her head.

"Really? Now _that's_ a tragedy. Man, I'll tell ya it's the best feeling in the world."

"Even if it's not reciprocated?" Bella asked, immediately wanting to take back those words, but Carlisle didn't flinch. "Sorry. That was…a dumb thing to say."

"No harm done, but who said it wasn't?" Bella tilted her head. "Long story."

Carlisle didn't elaborate and Bella didn't push. When their food was delivered they ate and fawned over their burgers and fries. Carlisle paid the bill up at the bar and kissed Esme on the cheek before they left. Bella watched her squeeze his arm when he whispered something into her ear. And then Esme walked over to Bella and told her to give her a call if she ever got bored since there was hardly anything for a girl to do on the island besides go to the beach or work.

They rode their bikes back to Carlisle's office, lay them on the side of the house and a little while later Bella was immersed in patient information again. Carlisle busied himself on the second level and Pink Floyd drifted down the stairs.

She kept thinking about high school, the last time she'd felt something for anyone. She'd never met him, and she'd never told anyone about him. He was all hers and she hadn't wanted to share.

There were no love letters written, at least not in the traditional way. Sometimes she'd flip through those notebooks and stare at his messy handwriting. She'd trace her finger over exclamation marks and circles he'd drawn around suggestions of hers he liked. He got her, and back then that had meant everything to Bella.

Bella thought if she'd brought the notebooks to wherever she moved that maybe she'd find him so she could say she was sorry and then maybe he'd forgive her and tell her he'd felt the same way, too. What she'd do if that delusion ever came true, she didn't know.

The music stopped then Carlisle yelled down, "You like jazz?"

"Sure!"

"Me too!" he replied, and then there were trumpets and a piano.

Bella got up to use the bathroom and when she returned the screen door creaked open and in stepped Edward.

She froze and for a moment she couldn't breathe, and _that_ really pissed her off. She had to stop letting him affect her this way.

Edward groaned. "Why are you here?" Carlisle jogged down the steps. "Why is she here? _Why_ are you here?"

Carlisle, confused, because who wouldn't be, pinballed between the two.

"I work here," Bella said, eyebrow lifted.

"Since when?"

"Since a few days ago." She reined in a string of insults she so badly wanted to spew, and would have if Carlisle wasn't in the room.

"How do you two know each other?"

"He's the reason I couldn't come in on my first day."

"She – what? Get over it."

"Whatever."

"Okay, then. Edward? Come with me."

With his head down and nostrils flared Edward followed Carlisle into the exam room. Their voices were muffled and Bella strained to hear what they were saying. Every now and then Edward's booming voice would filter through the wall but she hadn't been able to make out what he said.

The door flung open and Bella jumped. Edward stalked out of the office with a little white bag in his hand.

"Have a nice day!" Bella called and the door slammed.

"Well, that was some heavy shit," Carlisle said, leaning against the jamb, hands in his pockets.

Edward stomped back in. "Can I talk to you outside?" he asked Bella, his voice flat like a child who'd been scolded.

"Are you going to yell at me?"

"No."

"Fine."

"Jesus," Carlisle said and went back into the exam room.

Bella kept a good distance between herself and Edward as they walked out the door.

"I'll ask this once. Please do not look at my personal information."

Bella rolled her eyes. "What do you think I'm going to do, Edward? Post it all over the internet. Use your social security number to open up a few credit cards?"

He stared at her.

"What?"

"Just don't."

"What if I already looked?"

He laughed.

"What?"

"You haven't."

"Did you humiliate me and ask Carlisle to make sure I don't?"

"No, but I should have."

Bella crossed her arms, her face hot. God, he was infuriating. And arrogant. He was a giant infuriating arrogant ass who made her feel small, and she hated that.

"Why you'd think I care anything about you is beyond me, but I don't, Edward. I don't care what your file says about you. I don't care if you're healthy or sick – if you are then I'm sorry – or if you have a third nipple. Your emergency contacts? Don't care. Blood type? Don't care. Keep your super special secrets secret, Edward, because I—"

"Don't care."

"Exactly." Bella continued. "Look, you don't like me. I get that. Even though I haven't done a darn thing to you, you can't stand me. Whatever." Edward looked down at the ground. "Last night I thought about packing up and moving on, but I've already paid this month's rent and Carlisle is kind of depending on me, so I'm here for at least another three and a half weeks, right? So, let's you and I just pretend the other doesn't even exist, okay? I'll stay out of your way and you stay out of mine. Deal? I've gotta get back to work now, that is if Carlisle hasn't decided to fire me because of that little scene inside."

Edward chewed at his bottom lip, and Bella made a move to go back inside but then she stopped and marched right back up to him. Her eyes stung with tears but she held them in, refusing to let him see her cry.

She wanted to say more to him, demand him to tell her what his problem was, because this was so, so ridiculous, and Bella was done.

But she couldn't. If she opened her mouth Edward would definitely see her cry, so she stood there, hoping he'd break and apologize, or something.

After the longest minute ever, Edward hadn't said a word. She nodded once and walked back into the house.

She heard the motor of Edward's truck rumble, the tires back down the drive and then she finally took a deep breath. Carlisle poked his head out of the exam room.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "Do I still have a job?"

He smiled. "Pretty sure I begged you not to leave me," he said. "I'm going to get back to this inventory. Why don't you grab yourself a beer from the fridge."

Bella laughed. "Maybe later. Thank you, Carlisle."

"No problem, Miss Swan."

Carlisle disappeared and Bella typed "Edward" into the search bar. She didn't know his last name but how many "Edwards" could there be? And did he really think after making such a big fuss about her _not_ peeking at his info that she wouldn't?

So maybe it was unethical of her to do so, and maybe Carlisle would definitely have to fire her for this, but… She hit _enter_.

Three matches popped up: Simon Edward Green (too old); Mary Grace Edwards (not a man); Edward Anthony Masen.

She clicked on Masen.

**Edward Anthony Masen**

**06/20/1984**

**Birthplace: Forks, Washington**

Bella wouldn't scroll down any further. She closed out the tab and sat back in her chair, her stomach churning.

He used to go by Tony.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reccing and reviewing and alerting TFE. So happy you're enjoying Cranky-Jerkface Lighthouseward. Also, TFE was lucky enough to be included in great company of fics over at The Lemonade Stand for fic of the week. Check it out, if you're so inclined.

If you happen to be reading DC, I'm working on that chapter now.

Have a great week!

* * *

-6-

The last week of summer before seventh grade he decided he'd no longer go by Edward Jr.

As they sliced through the wind, careening down Foster Drive on their skateboards Edward had said to his best friend, "Call me Tony."

"Why?"

"It's cooler."

But really Edward didn't want his father's name. He'd wanted to be his own man, to disassociate himself from the person who belittled his dreams. Edward Sr. was a force and with a single word uttered from his sharp tongue he could spin you sideways and make you feel dumb all at the same time.

It'd taken a few months for people to catch on and naturally say Tony, but they did, finally. By the time high school rolled around Edward was long gone and Tony was this tall, lanky kid who was quiet and kept to himself. But Tony's new identity hadn't brought anything "new", hadn't transformed him like he'd thought it might.

Edward Sr. still put him down, told him his grades were never good enough, and he'd surely be a nothing and not a something if he didn't smarten up. Quit playing with your tools, Edward. Nobody will respect you if you're working for them. Funny thing that Edward Sr. had never said shit when his son shared his paycheck from his shit job to help with the bills.

Tony's boss, Marcus, was good to him, though. Set him up on as many jobs as he could then gave him a few extra dollars when he and the crew finished on time, provided Tony stayed in school and out of trouble.

Tony went to school, left before most of his classmates so he could get to work, and he'd be home by sunset. He'd eat dinner with his parents, his mom sitting at the end of their little square table and his dad across from him, and wished his dad wouldn't cut off his mom when she'd ask Tony about his day.

He did his homework during the week, and some weekends he messed around with girls. He screwed one in the back seat of his car. At sixteen, she was his first. Tony thought he'd died and gone to Heaven, but they'd only done it once more because she needed for Tony to tell her he loved her.

He liked her. She was pretty and had a nice ass, but…

Tony had apologized and their thing ended with her in tears and him awkwardly rubbing her back.

There was really only ever one girl who caught Tony's eye, but that girl…well, Bella Swan wouldn't be caught dead with someone like him. Leave it to Tony to have his sights set on something unattainable, let alone his distaste for everything the girl was about. He hated how clichéd it was too – poor boy with a hard on for the rich girl.

Bella smiled at him once. Even though it wasn't meant for anyone to see, she smiled. And even though Tony pretended like her smile didn't mean a thing to him, walking past her and her pack of friends with his head tilted down, he clamped his teeth onto on his bottom lip and fought the urge to glance back over his shoulder. He veered down the intersecting hallway, took his seat in English eleven, and failed in his attempt to push his dad's mocking laughter out of his head.

For the few months that had remained of the school year, Bella Swan didn't exist to him.

Tony worked closely with Marcus after class and when he'd finished work he'd go to his house off Smith Road. He sat in the middle of the dusty floor and scratched out plans beneath the glow of a kerosene lamp. The girl who'd wanted skylights above the bathtub so she could look at the stars and dream she was floating in the ocean was the girl he wanted.

The July that followed Tony's junior year was record-breaking hot. Humidity so thick it was nearly impossible to breathe. Tony had grown used to it, considering the job he had and all, but there were some afternoons when Marcus mercifully allowed the crew to take off a little early.

Instead of going home, Tony hit the river with a few of his buddies. Like animals, he, Jared, and Sam vied for the rope swing at the deep end. They'd crack open beers and drift the current on inner tubes. Where the water ran shallow, Sam tried to catch Steelheads with his bare hands – he almost did this one time – while Tony and Jared lay on the muddy bank and got high.

One afternoon, Jared and Sam had driven over to Tony's job site. Jared cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up to Tony (he was hammering shingles into place onto the roof) telling him to meet them at the river.

Tony wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. "Yeah, I'll try, but it probably won't be 'til later," he yelled back.

Sam stepped out of his car and shouted that if Tony wasn't there by six he'd have to bail 'cause his mom would throw some serious shit if he missed dinner again. Tony laughed and shook his head. He said he'd show. The alternative being home and that was a place he didn't want to be just then. His dad had been a real dick that morning, and it was all Tony could do not to have punched him for calling him a lazy sonofabitch.

Right around six Marcus called it a day. Said Tony did good work and placed fifty dollars into his calloused hand. He asked, "You saving up for college?"

"No, sir."

"Why not?"

"I'm not going," Tony explained.

Marcus rubbed the top of his shaved head. "Have you been doing smart things with the money you've been getting from me?"

Tony nodded. "Some goes in the bank," he said, leaving it at that.

"All right," Marcus said. "See you tomorrow at seven."

Tony slid the folded-up wad of bills into the back pocket of his jeans. "Thanks, Marcus," he said then climbed onto his bike.

He pedaled toward the river, knowing that Jared and Sam most likely wouldn't be there by the time he arrived. Even so, the cold water would feel good against his tired muscles.

Dumping his bike at the top of the embankment, Tony then side-stepped down the slope, over thick roots and ducking beneath low, leafy branches. The earthy scent heavy and the sound of the light rush of water faint.

He hadn't brought a suit, the place was empty, so he unlaced his boots then stripped down to his briefs.

Tony left his clothes in a small bundle atop one of the mossy rocks then waded in. Here, the current was weak; he easily pushed against it toward the rope swing.

He dunked his head, floated around, and when he decided he'd cooled off enough, his skin beginning to wrinkle, Tony began to make his way back. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since before noon.

"You shouldn't swim by yourself! It's dangerous," Bella shouted, her voice echoed. Tony's head jerked up. "You're always looking down."

He stopped where it was waist deep, about thirty feet away from her, and just stood there staring at her. She wore cut-offs and a tank, the strap of her bikini tied around her neck. He ignored the fish that brushed against his calf.

Bella glanced down at his clothes then back at him. "Are you naked?"

Tony squinted his eyes. "No?" He looked past her, searching for friends of hers. People who'd think it be a total riot to steal his clothes so he'd have to ride home _almost_ naked, because those were the kinds of things they'd done. "What do you want?"

She stepped toward the water. "To go swimming. What does it look like?"

"You just said it's dangerous to go by yourself."

"Yeah, but I'm not by myself 'cause you're here, right?" She peeled off her tank, dropping it with little flourish next to his clothes, but left on her shorts and sneakers.

Tony zeroed in on her chest, the way the blue fabric fit snugly over her tits. He swallowed, hard. "What are you doing?"

"Fuck if I know," she said, tripping as she entered the water. "Oh shit it's cold!" She laughed and waded toward him, then past him.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, turning around.

On her back, Bella extended her arms out from her sides then pushed them down. She looked like she was making the top half of a snow angel. "Only a little," she said.

She swam further, closer to where he'd been. He followed. Partly because he was curious and partly because she'd probably drown if he left.

He watched her circle around him. "Sobering up?"

"God, I hope not," she said, her eyes closed.

"How'd you get here?"

"Drove."

Tony thought he might say something about that, but then he'd only be a hypocrite.

She was angry, or maybe upset – he had no clue. Bella peeked over at him every so often. She didn't smile or anything, just made sure he was still there.

He couldn't take his eyes off her if he wanted.

"I have to get going," he said, breaking the silence. He didn't really need to be anywhere, but she was drunk, and he was in his underwear. Tony told himself that if she were sober it'd be okay to want to touch her.

"So go."

"I can't leave you here by yourself."

Bella laughed.

"Fine. Drown then," he said, but he didn't move.

With a huff she let her feet sink and turned onto her stomach, swam back toward their clothes.

He followed her again. She was so strange.

She stepped out of the water, wringing her hair then turned to face him. Tony stayed back a few feet. Bella's eyes drifted down, and for a second he considered covering his crotch with his hands, but he didn't.

Bella staggered and winced. "You really wouldn't leave me, would you?" she said. The color suddenly drained from her face as she clamped a hand over her mouth. Bella stumbled to the nearest tree, hugged it with one arm and threw up.

The entire way up the hill she complained about being sleepy – how she managed to get down without breaking something was a total mystery.

He helped her into the passenger seat of her car, which was parked cockeyed on the shoulder. Emptied what Schnapps was left in the bottle onto the road.

Her trunk was too small, so Tony maneuvered his bike into the back and then slipped into the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and flipped the a/c to high.

Bella lay her head back, her eyes closed.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

She lifted her arm and pointed.

"I'm gonna need more than that," he said, and she mumbled the name of a street.

It'd taken Tony an hour to find her place, but when he pulled to a stop in front of the nice white house with black shutters he didn't wake her immediately.

He brushed strands of hair away from her face and regarded her for a minute. Her full lips were parted and her lashes were so thick he wondered if they were always like that or if it was the illusion from make-up.

Other than that she looked like hell.

He glanced over at her house then back at her. Too afraid she might hear, he quietly said, "My name's Tony, by the way. In case you were wondering."

* * *

A week had passed and Edward hadn't seen Bella once. It was simultaneously idyllic and aggravating.

Begrudgingly, Edward pulled himself out of bed. The meds Carlisle prescribed for his migraines for this time of year had always made it nearly impossible for Edward to sleep soundly, especially those first few days.

He rubbed his eyes and walked into his kitchen. Edward thought about making a pot of coffee. Thought about Bella. Thought about going back to bed. And then he thought about Bella again, like he had done all week.

She looked at his file; he was certain of it. Or maybe she hadn't.

No, she had. Of course, she had.

There wasn't anything more in it than who he was, and the fact that he suffered from cluster headaches but that was beside the point.

She now knew who he was yet Edward had no idea what she'd do with that information. Countless scenarios bounced through his mind, ranging from practical acceptance to extreme rage. She had no reason to be angry that he withheld his identity from her – it wasn't as if he'd ever meant anything to her. But he'd never known Bella Swan to be sensible.

Then again it'd been a decade, and sometimes people changed.

Edward laughed at that. Some people changed, sure they did, but when old wounds were reopened they had a tendency to sting just as badly.

Skipping his morning swim, Edward went straight for a run, and when he returned to his cottage he showered.

He wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror and stared at his reflection. He was old, he thought. Edward was almost twenty-nine, and he was old like he'd already peaked old.

He had his father's eyes and the color of his mother's hair, had hers been lightened by the sun. Edward finger-combed his beard. He was tired and restless and a nothing exactly as his father had predicted.


	7. Chapter 7

-7-

Bella lay on the beach during her lunch break. Her skin hot to the touch though in her head, and every other part inside her body that counted, it felt nice, peaceful.

A couple with two children – boys – had rented a house on Bella's street for the weekend. They set up camp several feet away so between waves crashing and gulls squawking were the sounds of tiny squeals and gleeful demands for attention retorted by gentle warnings to not go too far.

Bella rolled onto her stomach, faced the ocean, and at the farthest point she saw a charcoal cloud threaded with purple that met the water. If she turned around she'd never know, because she'd be caught up in the daydream of sun and wind and children with tanned bare bellies and platinum hair playing. If she turned her back on the storm it would sneak up on her.

She stared at it, thinking about her dad. He'd shown her tide pools when she was seven. Charlie had sat on a slimy rock while Bella peered into shallow water. He'd told her not to poke the urchins because they just might poke back.

He had this gruff voice and stern face for anyone but her and her sister, except for when they'd acted up, of course. Like the time Rose and Bella had decided to take Charlie's cruiser through the Taco Bell drive-thru because Rose had a craving for burritos. Then the Swan sisters had felt his wrath, for all of ten minutes. He'd grounded them for a month, had taken away Rose's license for two, and then about a week later he'd told them he was sick. It'd knocked the wind out of her, not having come back for months.

After Bella's mom left them for another family, she counted on her sister and her dad more than ever. The three had become close, woven so tightly together that the absence of her mother hurt a tiny bit less. But Renee's betrayal of falling in love with another man and his kid had burned through her all over again once she'd found out that Charlie's body became consumed by cancer.

Bella imagined the storm coming in from the sea, contained in that cloud that from where she lay appeared no bigger than her thumb, was a relative of the one she saw the days following her dad's announcement.

That one was bigger, closer. It was a mile away, the next town over. In another state, another universe, right next to her. She wanted to walk to it, just get there and touch it. She wanted to put her palm up to it and step through, let it swallow her. See what was on the other side, get stuck in the middle. Bella now thought that if she stayed on the beach long enough maybe she'd get that chance.

She wondered if these sort of things followed a person around. Signs of bad taken for granted.

Her chin resting on the back of her hand, she drew circles in the sand with the other. Bella scooped some up and watched the granules fall from between her fingers. She missed Rose. Rose would have told her to get the fuck over herself and stop thinking so much.

Bella laughed to herself.

She envied how forgiving Rose was, but then again she thought her sister perhaps a little too forgiving. She hoped Rose's boyfriend didn't take advantage of that.

Bella squeezed her eyes shut then quickly opened them again, as if she could've made the approaching storm disappear. Miles and miles away, it was still there. The family that shared her beach carried on as if they had all the time in the world. She envied them, too. Sort of.

See, Bella only had a few more hours of solitude.

Edward was scheduled to come to her house at seven – Harry claimed he was the only one on the island who knew what they were doing when it came to leaky pipes. When she heard the _drip drip drip_ from underneath her kitchen sink she found the bottom of the cabinet saturated. "I might be able to fix it myself," Bella said when she called Harry the day before. Harry earnestly replied, "Really?" When she hesitated Harry told her not to worry, that Edward could have it fixed up in a jiffy.

For the past twenty-four hours she psyched herself up, silently chanting _it won't be so bad_. Edward was simply upset, or whatever, that she didn't recognize him. He was annoyed. But really, so what? He looked completely different than he had in high school. For one, he was bigger now brandishing broad shoulders and muscles. And two his face was concealed by hair. Besides, she hardly knew him at all back then. She'd tried to smile at him a few times in the halls but he glanced the other way. They hadn't run in the same circles and those circles had never crossed. What did he expect?

To hold a grudge against her for something so small as a little kiss was freaking immature. Seriously. Grow up, Caveman. Bella didn't come to Whimbrel to rehash teenage melodrama and she sure as frick wasn't searching out nostalgia, so when Edward was to show up later that day she thought he'd better not be an ass. And now she was getting herself all worked up again.

_Jerk_.

_Not to mention_ being that sometime during the past ten years he'd turned into this cranky, hairy thing who lost all sense of civility was not her fault.

It wasn't her fault at all.

Bella rubbed sand between her fingers.

After discovering Edward was Tony, all she could think about was how she did _not_ want to bring up the past. She hadn't thought about their kiss, not in depth anyway.

She hadn't known at the time, though given his behavior toward her maybe it wasn't as good as she now remembered. Well, "good" probably wasn't the best description. It hadn't been real, that was for sure, but the seconds she'd pinned him against a locker, forcing her mouth on his, were nice. For a tiny moment Bella had forgotten about the gasping crowd behind her, that it'd been for show. All she'd been aware of were his soft lips and his tongue gliding against hers.

Okay, so maybe his anger toward her was a teensy bit deserved.

It'd been a dare. Not even a dare, more like a I Am So Much Better Off Without You kind of thing. "Paul's coming," Angie had said. "You should grab the first guy who walks by and kiss the crap out of him." "No." "You totally should. He cheated on you. Show 'em you're completely unaffected by his infidelity." Angie had poked Bella in her ribs. "Show him what he's missing."

Somehow, it'd suddenly seemed like a good idea. Against her friend's advice Bella hadn't grabbed the first guy. She'd scanned the boys faces who'd occupied the hall at the time. Angie was right and it had to be convincing, otherwise Paul would've realized it was a joke, and Bella had been fed up with everything going to shit.

She'd spotted Tony Masen. Quiet, aloof, and if she was being honest, wholly good looking.

"Tony," she'd called. He hadn't responded, only stopped walking, causing anyone behind him to go around.

She remembered the question in his eyes at first, how stiff his mouth was before he relaxed and kissed her back. He'd kept his hands to himself but she'd fisted his shirt tighter. He was warm. She remembered thinking what it would've been like if he'd been the one doing the pinning, what it would have been like if he'd wanted her. Bella remembered the way he wiped her saliva from the corner of his mouth with his finger, his eyes darting toward the people behind her, before walking away.

She was so stupid back then.

Bella began packing up her stuff, a little too forcefully. The family with tow-haired boys was doing the same but not with as much vigor. Not only was the cloud coming closer but she really did owe Edward an apology.

* * *

At quarter past seven Edward knocked on Bella's door.

Earlier, she paced for a while. Practiced an appropriate yet grovel-free apology, because she really didn't think groveling was necessary. She'd laugh at herself and chalk it up to immaturity, but to be sure her words did not come across as patronizing. Bella went as far as willing to give a hand shake after they'd decide to start fresh.

Taking a deep breath, Bella swung her door open. The storm had come and gone, but steam rose up and hovered above the street. A good sign, right?

"Thanks for coming," she said.

Edward walked in and stood in the middle of the living room, surveying her small space. "Mmhm."

"Is Harry coming?"

"Yep."

_Okay_.

Edward made his way to the kitchen, dropped his box of tools to the floor then got down on his knees. As he stuck his head inside the cabinet her rehearsed apology sat on the tip of Bella's tongue. _Just do it. Get it over with. Rip off the hairy Band-Aid._

"Is it bad?" she asked, before biting at her thumb nail.

"Don't know yet. You're gonna have to give me more than a second."

She rolled her eyes.

She kept her voice light. "When's Harry coming?"

"Soon."

_Say something_.

Edward pulled himself out from underneath the sink and sat back on his ankles. He scratched the back of his neck then quickly looked up at Bella before returning his attention back to… not her. "Pipe's rusted. I can go get what I need and come back to fix it tonight or I can come back tomorrow. It's not a big deal but Harry's got a bad back and can't do it himself. It'll take a couple hours. Your call," he explained, his voice flat.

_Hours? _This was not how it was supposed to go. A quick in and out, things settled – even though Edward's meanness was not a factor she'd merely blow off, it could be forgiven if he followed her imaginary scenario.

"Whatever's convenient," she said.

He pushed himself up off the floor. "I'll be back in a little bit."

Less than an hour later Edward knocked on her door, again.

He told her Harry wasn't coming, that there was no reason, and Bella decided that wasn't the best news since Harry would've made an excellent buffer should her plan go awry.

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be in the same room while he worked, or the next room, or simply go about her business. She didn't really have business to go about so she settled on the couch and flipped through a magazine. She picked up her phone to dial Esme (they were supposed to get together for drinks the next night), but she put it back down. No need for Edward to overhear her conversation.

She finished the crossword puzzle in _People_, flipped on the television, heard clanking and a couple grunts between switching channels.

She grew antsy and rose from the couch. Bella sneaked a peek into the kitchen. Edward lay on his side, his head and shoulders hidden underneath the sink. A slip of skin showed between his shirt and jeans, and each time his arm moved to tighten or loosen whatever he was doing his biceps flexed, veins popping out over top of them.

Ogling was not part of the plan. Bella needed to buck up and push the elephant out of the room.

"Edward," she said. He didn't reply. "I didn't know it was you. You've changed, a lot. Your name, too, I guess." He continued to work on the pipe. "That thing that happened between us? Yeah, um, that was…I don't know, a stupid high school thing, and I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

When he still didn't say anything, she muttered a few expletives and walked back to the living room. Five seconds later, she stalked back into the kitchen.

"You could've said something, you know. You knew who I was the whole time and you didn't say a word. And what _is _up with the name change, Edward? _Tony_?"

Edward stilled, set down his wrench then maneuvered his way out. He drew up his knees and placed his forearms there, sucked in his lips. Wiping his palms over his thighs, he shook his head and laughed to himself.

"What?" she said, her arms crossed.

"Sink's finished." Edward began to clean up his things.

"So that's it? You're just going to be dismissive of the whole thing? Awesome. Wish I'd known before I bothered worrying about it. Thanks for wasting my time," she said. Bella turned and walked toward the front door. She opened it wide and stood there, waiting to slam it shut behind him. Okay, so maybe not her best apology, but did she really deserve total silence? She thought not.

Edward's focus was straight ahead, through the open door, _not_ on Bella when he emerged. He put his hand on the screen door then turned toward her.

He leaned in close, licked his bottom lip. "You're right. The thing was stupid, and you know what else? It was hardly memorable."

Her eyes narrowed. "Really."

He smiled. "Really."

She pressed her back to the door. "You're lying."

"Am I?"

"I know you are_._"

Edward leaned in a little more. "Bella, I forgot about that kiss the second I walked away."

"No, you didn't." Bella scrunched her nose. "You smell." But it wasn't awful. Edward smelled like salty air and sweat and possibly soap. She gripped the doorknob.

"Your wit's impressive," he said, dropping his hand from the screen door.

"Aren't you leaving?" she said and watched his throat bob.

"I am."

"Well, go then." She pushed at the screen, and then he pulled it shut. Her fingers accidentally brushed his forearm. "What are you doing?" she said.

Edward towered over her. He was too close but strangely not close enough.

Bella wanted him gone before she did something dumb, but apparently her body disconnected from her brain because she was grabbing his shirt then tugging.

He didn't budge, and Bella began mental preparations to wallow in humiliation for the next several days.

Edward carefully removed her hand, then he set down his tool box for a second time that night.

Before Bella could ask what he was doing again, he kissed her. He kissed her proper.

He lifted her up against the door and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He pressed into her, slid his thumbs over the sides of her breasts. His beard scratched her chin and all she could think was _more._

They were all tongues and lips, sucking and nipping. Bella knotted his hair in her fingers and a small sound made it's way from the back of his throat. She sank down, felt his erection, and being the harlot she seemingly was she ground against him.

Edward eased her down then kissed her forehead. He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. He kissed her cheek. Bella closed her eyes, both of them taking in deep breaths. He whispered, "_That_ was a mistake."

* * *

Thanks so much for reading.


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